


we’re running on perfectly wasted youth

by Pidonyx



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album)
Genre: Established Relationship, Jet and the Girl are there right at the end, M/M, THE KILLJOYS ARE NOT MCR, i am rlly bad at writing anything except for what I’m known for, its just Fucking Around. no plot, no new territory or experimentation only On Brand., v short. idk man i just live here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:41:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24125323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pidonyx/pseuds/Pidonyx
Summary: Repainting the Trans Am, sort of.
Relationships: Fun Ghoul/Party Poison (Danger Days)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 43





	we’re running on perfectly wasted youth

**Author's Note:**

> this is like. something i GUESS. if i’m being honest i’ve been writing a lot recently to try to have some kind of escapism from trying to do art school online because i am Not Having Fun with it but also i wrote this cuz i did @killjoynest’s zone five quarantine fair on my art blog (@ravenxbones) on tumblr and did a really bad job with a concept i really liked so i decided to write it and see if i could do any better and honestly? dunno. aaaaaaaaaaa
> 
> anyways i never plug my tumblr but i’m @ghostxraven and i put literally whatever i want there so come like. idk talk danger days and star wars and overwatch w me or whatever yk
> 
> title is from lightning in a bottle by the summer set which is just, in general, a feel-good song cuz i be making spotify playlists

The steady stream of sunshine-yellow paint sputters in the nozzle, and Poison scowls at the dregs dripping down the tip of the can and over his fingers, smacking the bottom harshly against the dry-packed sand to try and get enough pressure for one more line. It’s no use, the spraycan’s empty, and he sighs, sitting back on his heels and squinting up into the sun. 

“Ghoulie, pass me more paint? Th’s one’s done ‘n’ I gotta ‘nother pass t’ do.”

Ghoul’s silhouette, black against the midday-blue sky, sharpens into focus as he pushes off from leaning against the passenger side door of the Trans Am, scooping up a fresh can from the cluster at his feet. He leans down and without the glare from behind, Poison can see his face as he holds out the spraypaint, giving it a little shake with a tilted grin. 

Poison presses a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth in thanks, and finishes up the last line he was painting, going over the letters a few more times to smooth it out. He stands up, surveying his handiwork. 

“Looks good,” Ghoul says, hooking his chin over Poison’s shoulder. 

“You think?” Poison says, tilting his head to the side. 

“I mean, it looks the same as before, only brighter. ‘S the point, wasn’t it?”

Poison slaps blindly behind him, feeling the vibration against his spine as Ghoul laughs. “You would think that.” There’s a smile tugging at his mouth though, and Ghoul can definitely hear it because he’s smiling too, a soft little curve Poison can feel at the junction of his neck and clavicle.

“‘M jus’ sayin’. Not trying to undermine your skill as ‘n artist or anything.” He kisses Poison’s cheek, arms settling loosely around his waist.

Poison makes a noncommittal noise in response, leaning back into Ghoul’s chest. “Whatever. ‘Least Kobra ‘preciates my work.” Kobra, from where he’s been leaning on his elbows on the roof of the Trans Am with a ‘zine for the past hour, gives him a sarcastic thumbs up. Poison sticks his tongue out at him.

Ghoul’s snickering again, the tip of his nosepressed into the dip right behind Poison’s ear, and Poison shifts in his arms, tugging at his shirt so he can kiss him. Ghoul hums happily into his mouth, and Poison adjusts his hands on his waist to pull him closer, slipping a hand into one of his back pockets. 

Ghoul breaks away to bite at his jaw playfully. “You’re getting spraypaint all over my clothes,” he says, but he doesn’t sound too upset about it, brushing his fingers over the exposed strip of skin where Poison’s ratty paint shirt has ridden up. 

“You love it,” Poison mutters into his ear, catching the edge of it with his teeth. Ghoul just slides a hand around the nape of his neck to pull him back down. There’s a slight sting where his fingers are pressing, a sure sign that Poison’s gotten sunburned again, but any thoughts about that evaporate as Ghoul’s mouth goes slack against his. Poison scrabbles at the waist of Ghoul’s jeans, getting two fingers into his belt loops and pulling their hips flush. 

“You guys are really gross,” Kobra’s voice says somewhere to Poison’s left, but Poison’s got Ghoul leant back against the car, lips moving lazily against his, so he doesn’t really care. He can feel Ghoul’s amusement in the slightest tilt of a smile, though, and the way his fingertips skate over his sides, sliding up the back of his shirt. 

A jolt shakes the Trans Am, and Poison pulls away reluctantly to see Kobra still fixated on his magazine. “Some of us are trying to read here,” he says, deadpan, but Poison can see humor flattening the corner of his mouth. 

Ghoul throws a handful of sand in his direction, and Kobra flips him off over the car, and then they’re wrestling in the dirt, dust flying everywhere, and Poison feels laughter bubbling out, bright and loud.

Poison scoops up his empty spraycan and tosses it into the center of the dust cloud. Ghoul stumbles to his feet, laughing breathlessly, covered in smears of grime and a thin coating of sand and with fuchsia and yellow stains on his cheek and shirt and pants. Kobra’s hair is a mess, sunglasses askew, and there’s a bruise blooming on his cheekbone right above where a smile is splitting his face. 

Ghoul loops his arm through Poison’s and leans against his shoulder, grinning right back. “Nose outta our business, Kobes, ” He teases, kicking another plume of sand at where Kobra is kneeling, dusting himself off. “You wanna start shit, I’m gonna have to defend Pois’s honor.” His eyes are twinkling, looking like twin suns.

“You have a pink handprint on your ass,” Kobra shoots back, smirking, running a hand backwards through his hair to try to get the sand out, making it stick up at even crazier angles. Ghoul cackles, head tilting back, and he’s warm up against Poison’s side, with the desert sun beating down on them and the freshly re-painted Trans Am against their backs. 

Kobra says something back, and Ghoul replies in kind, but Poison isn’t really paying attention anymore, basking in just being with two of his favorite people and the simplicity of the moment. It’s just about perfect, and Poison thinks, suddenly, that he would give just about anything to get to just have this forever. Ghoul leans up and presses another gentle kiss to his cheekbone, and Kobra, still dusting off his knees and muttering something about dirt stains, huddles into his other side, throwing an arm over his shoulders. In the Diner doorway, Jet appears, smiling, with the Girl excitedly waving a handful of crayons from his hip, waving them inside, and everything is just kind of beautiful.  _Yeah. Definitely perfect._


End file.
